I ran to catch up with the rest of my group today. I figured they would have left without me, but I guess they have use for me yet. On my way back, I thought of something. What if I brought some flowers back with me? Maybe I could sell them, or, maybe I could just give them away. If it would make someone happy to have one, then I wouldn't think of charging for such a thing. Happiness shouldn't have to be purchased. Flowers are free, so they should stay that way. I jogged back down the injured road and rendezvoused with my flower patch once more. I had half a thought of just staying there...just me and the flowers. I'm not stupid though. I know it would've been a bad idea. Nothing is safe in this world anymore, not even in nature.
I snatched up a handful of tulips. The yellow exploded in front of my eyes and clashed with the pink of my hands and the green of their stems. They snapped from their roots with a bright crack. I felt sort of, I don't know, criminal. What right do I have ripping these things from their home? They didn't do anything to anyone, so why should I be able to take them away just because I want to? It's too late now, though. It's useless to think these sort of thoughts now. After all, regret gets me nowhere. Regret doesn't do anyone any good. I wish my dad would have known that.
They were beautiful though, without a doubt, but their beauty faded quickly after I picked them. The petals began to soften and the leaves began to wilt. I felt the life seep out of them as I held them delicately in my earth-covered hands. They were dying. I should be used to this, right? I've seen death. What difference does it make if it's people or flowers? I'm not sure I have the heart to see what they look like now, all smashed up in my bag. It doesn't matter, and I don't feel like thinking about it anymore.
Something exciting happened today. We went looking in this big building. Someone mentioned that it was used for sports. I don't really know what kind, but I imagine it must have been very physical. The entire playing area reeked to high heaven. I spotted some large rusty-orange balls in the corner of the room. I thought of going to get them, but what use have I of silly things like that? We walked up a flight of stairs to a room that was called “Staff Only”. Fortunately, Brad knew how to unlock things, so we didn't have to break down the door. I don't like unnecessary destruction. It's so...I don't know, unnecessary. A fresh and brisk breeze pried its way out of the cracked door, and its long flowing fingers found their way into my senses. Rooms are supposed to be stuffy and dry, not refreshing. I bolted into the room to evacuate the foul stench from my lungs. The sweaty smell from downstairs was making me sick to my stomach. I shouldn't have spent so much time in that flower field. It desensitized me.
My mind couldn't help but to wander to dark places. I try my best not to think of bad things, but I'm not perfect, and even I can't ignore the reality of the world today. That smell was not just sweat. It was sickly and black, the kind that makes you wonder for how long something had been setting. I feel stupid for letting it bother me. I should be strong. Nothing should bother me, not ever. I look at my companions here and I wonder why I can't be like them. They joke and fight and hurt. It's like they don't even care whose lives they are disrupting. Maybe that's their way of defending themselves. Maybe they are empathetic, but they just don't show it. You can't show weakness to anyone. Only a idiot would cry in public, right? The strong and the hungry always prey on the injured animal.
Roland looked around the room with disinterest. I thought it was fun. You know, exploring new places and discovering things. When I was ten, my dad took one day of the week to “go on adventures”. He'd pack up a small backpack that my mom put together from some old blue jeans. Mom didn't really approve of the idea of dad and I running out on our own, but she was more than happy to see a smile on our faces. Smiles didn't happen all that often, so she would cherish them when they appeared. Dad would tell me to pick a direction, any direction, and we would just go. We'd walk for hours. We wouldn't even talk because we didn't need to. It was just enough for us to walk around and look at the trees and grass. Once we found a quiet place, we would stop and sit down for a bit. It would always be the same blanket. Old, tattered, and flannel. Grass would stick up from the holes and tickle my legs from under my dress. I would always panic because I thought bugs were crawling on me. I wish I only had to panic about ants and spiders. Life was so simple back then, even for me. Dad would never tell me what he brought for lunch; he would just surprise me with something he knew I liked. The last thing I had was was wheat bread and butter. He saved it up from an old convenience store. He had an amazing way of preserving things. Mom always called him a fool, but I thought it was amazing. He'd take the bag and suck all the air out of it. He said it was “vacuum packed”. He had such a knack for coming up with quick fixes and handy things like that. It's sad though; he couldn't fix the one thing that mattered the most.
I ran to catch up with the rest of my group today. I figured they would have left without me, but I guess they have use for me yet. On my way back, I thought of something. What if I brought some flowers back with me? Maybe I could sell them, or, maybe I could just give them away. If it would make someone happy to have one, then I wouldn't think of charging for such a thing. Happiness shouldn't have to be purchased. Flowers are free, so they should stay that way. I jogged back down the injured road and rendezvoused with my flower patch once more. I had half a thought of just staying there...just me and the flowers. I'm not stupid though. I know it would've been a bad idea. Nothing is safe in this world anymore, not even in nature.
I snatched up a handful of tulips. The yellow exploded in front of my eyes and clashed with the pink of my hands and the green of their stems. They snapped from their roots with a bright crack. I felt sort of, I don't know, criminal. What right do I have ripping these things from their home? They didn't do anything to anyone, so why should I be able to take them away just because I want to? It's too late now, though. It's useless to think these sort of thoughts now. After all, regret gets me nowhere. Regret doesn't do anyone any good. I wish my dad would have known that.
They were beautiful though, without a doubt, but their beauty faded quickly after I picked them. The petals began to soften and the leaves began to wilt. I felt the life seep out of them as I held them delicately in my earth-covered hands. They were dying. I should be used to this, right? I've seen death. What difference does it make if it's people or flowers? I'm not sure I have the heart to see what they look like now, all smashed up in my bag. It doesn't matter, and I don't feel like thinking about it anymore.
Something exciting happened today. We went looking in this big building. Someone mentioned that it was used for sports. I don't really know what kind, but I imagine it must have been very physical. The entire playing area reeked to high heaven. I spotted some large rusty-orange balls in the corner of the room. I thought of going to get them, but what use have I of silly things like that? We walked up a flight of stairs to a room that was called “Staff Only”. Fortunately, Brad knew how to unlock things, so we didn't have to break down the door. I don't like unnecessary destruction. It's so...I don't know, unnecessary. A fresh and brisk breeze pried its way out of the cracked door, and its long flowing fingers found their way into my senses. Rooms are supposed to be stuffy and dry, not refreshing. I bolted into the room to evacuate the foul stench from my lungs. The sweaty smell from downstairs was making me sick to my stomach. I shouldn't have spent so much time in that flower field. It desensitized me.
My mind couldn't help but to wander to dark places. I try my best not to think of bad things, but I'm not perfect, and even I can't ignore the reality of the world today. That smell was not just sweat. It was sickly and black, the kind that makes you wonder for how long something had been setting. I feel stupid for letting it bother me. I should be strong. Nothing should bother me, not ever. I look at my companions here and I wonder why I can't be like them. They joke and fight and hurt. It's like they don't even care whose lives they are disrupting. Maybe that's their way of defending themselves. Maybe they are empathetic, but they just don't show it. You can't show weakness to anyone. Only a idiot would cry in public, right? The strong and the hungry always prey on the injured animal.
Roland looked around the room with disinterest. I thought it was fun. You know, exploring new places and discovering things. When I was ten, my dad took one day of the week to “go on adventures”. He'd pack up a small backpack that my mom put together from some old blue jeans. Mom didn't really approve of the idea of dad and I running out on our own, but she was more than happy to see a smile on our faces. Smiles didn't happen all that often, so she would cherish them when they appeared. Dad would tell me to pick a direction, any direction, and we would just go. We'd walk for hours. We wouldn't even talk because we didn't need to. It was just enough for us to walk around and look at the trees and grass. Once we found a quiet place, we would stop and sit down for a bit. It would always be the same blanket. Old, tattered, and flannel. Grass would stick up from the holes and tickle my legs from under my dress. I would always panic because I thought bugs were crawling on me. I wish I only had to panic about ants and spiders. Life was so simple back then, even for me. Dad would never tell me what he brought for lunch; he would just surprise me with something he knew I liked. The last thing I had was was wheat bread and butter. He saved it up from an old convenience store. He had an amazing way of preserving things. Mom always called him a fool, but I thought it was amazing. He'd take the bag and suck all the air out of it. He said it was “vacuum packed”. He had such a knack for coming up with quick fixes and handy things like that. It's sad though; he couldn't fix the one thing that mattered the most.
-Bindi